


Not a Big Deal

by chamyl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (they're all idiots really), Discord: O Lord Heal This Server, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gabriel is an asshole ❤, Humor, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Lord Beelzebub's gender is FUCK YOU, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Romance, Rough Kissing, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), this is actually a hallmark movie pretending to be a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21885193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl
Summary: Gabriel is beaming. He easily moves through the crowd to get to Aziraphale, squeezing the angel’s shoulder just a little too tight. He is, of course, wearing an obnoxious Christmas sweater, with a reindeer’s face in the centre and little lights around it in all the colours of the rainbow. Much to Aziraphale’s chagrin, the lights do actually work, and the reindeer has a Santa hat on its head. Even more annoyingly, Gabriel looks pretty good in it, as per usual.🎄Aziraphale is distraught when Gabriel decides they're throwing a Christmas party at the bookshop. Crowley tries to help, but the situation's pretty dire.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 146
Collections: O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange





	Not a Big Deal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vol_ctrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vol_ctrl/gifts).



> Stocking stuffer fic!  
> Prompt: Gabriel _loves_ Christmas.
> 
> (Tiny trigger warning for very brief mention of mind control.)

Crowley will never, ever admit it, but actually – he doesn’t really mind those last few weeks before Christmas.

It _is_ a bit weird, if he thinks about it too hard, how capitalism has latched onto the supposed date of birth of Jesus Christ, but, well, nothing wrong with quietly enjoying the Christmas lights as he strolls through the cold streets of London. Definitely nothing wrong with watching the humans anxiously scramble about, trying to get all the gifts on their lists like highly caffeinated maniac little elves.

He is downright cheerful when he steps into the bookshop, a fancy box of ginger snap biscuits in his hands.

“Hey, angel?” He calls out.

“Over here.” Aziraphale replies from somewhere deeper inside the shop.

Crowley saunters forward, following the angel’s voice.

He finds Aziraphale in the backroom, a glass of whisky in his hand and a book in the other. That’s when he remembers: there’s always something a little off with the angel in the weeks before Christmas.

“Uh, hello.” Crowley mutters.

Aziraphale gives him a polite smile as fake as the white beard on the teenage Santa impersonator Crowley passed on his way to the bookshop. “Hello, Crowley.”

“Angel…” Crowley abandons the box of biscuits on the closest surface and sits down on a couch opposite from Aziraphale, bony elbows over bony knees as he bends forward to look at him in the eye. The angel averts his gaze. “Why the heaven are you always so mopey around Christmas?”

“It’s nothing.” Aziraphale replies, sloshing the whiskey in his glass. The fact that he hasn’t offered Crowley a drink of his own is enough of a testament to his state of mind.

“It’s clearly not _nothing_.” Crowley smacks his lips, peering at the cheerless angel over his dark glasses. “Look, if it’s none of my business you can just say so and I’ll drop it.”

Aziraphale sighs, finally raising his gaze to meet the demon’s. “It’s… it’s Gabriel, actually.”

“What’s that twat done now?”

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale scolds him, even though Crowley is pretty sure the angel would say exactly the same about his boss if he was allowed to. “Gabriel, well… he is, ah—he’s a big fan of Christmas, actually.”

Crowley leans back a bit in surprise. “What? Really?” Aziraphale nods. “Uh. Wouldn’t have guessed he was.”

“I think it has something to do with…” Aziraphale puts down the glass and makes a vague gesture in the air, “his involvement with the whole Annunciation business.”

“Ah, right.” Crowley replies. “That was him, breaking the news to Mary, wasn’t it? I still wonder how that went.” He cringes a bit.

“Better not think about it too hard, I say.” Aziraphale replies wisely. Crowley nods in agreement.

“So what if he likes Christmas a little too much? What’s that got to do with you?”

“Lately, he’s been insisting we throw a Christmas party every year. The whole department. It’s…” Aziraphale sighs, letting the rest of the sentence drop.

“Uh, yeah. I can picture that, spare me the details.” The angel turns to him, big blue eyes and a petulant pout on his face Crowley can’t help but find adorable. But what can the demon to do to fix this for him? It’s not as if Crowley could tell Gabriel to fuck off, or he would have done that already. So he asks, “can’t you make up an excuse to get out of it?”

“Not this year,” Aziraphale replies, his gaze sweeping over the room, “he’s decided… he’s insistently asked that we throw the party here.”

“Here.” Crowley replies dumbly. “ _Here_?” He repeats, understanding slowly dawning on him. “Here as in… here in the _bookshop_?” He asks, accidentally popping the last ‘p’.

Aziraphale presses his lips into a thin line and nods.

“Oh. _Shit_.” Crowley replies, and Aziraphale doesn’t even scold him. “Oh, bollocks. When?”

“Tomorrow.” The angel replies, with all the gravity of someone who’s announcing the date of their execution.

They’re quiet for a few moments as Aziraphale sips his drink and Crowley turns a thought over in his mind. When he’s made his decision, he looks up at the angel. “Would it help if I was there?”

“Wh—how? They would spot you, my dear.” Aziraphale says.

“Heh, I could disguise myself. I’ve done it before. Dozens of times.” Crowley shrugs. “Are there going to be many people?”

Aziraphale nods. “Gabriel has asked every angel to bring a human along.”

“Oh, really?” Crowley asks, then frowns around a thought he doesn’t much like. “And uh, who are you bringing?” He asks, going for casual, landing somewhere between paranoid and petulant instead.

“Tommy. From the bakery down the street.” Aziraphale replies.

Crowley blinks once, confused. “Tommy? Isn’t that the rude young man who always messes up your ord— _oh_.” He can’t help the big grin blooming on his face. Of course, if Aziraphale had to inflict Gabriel’s Christmas party on a human, he’d pick carefully, like the bastard he is.

“Shush now,” Aziraphale warns him with a fond little smile, “and if your offer still stands… yes. It would be helpful to have you around. But you have to promise to make very, very sure you are absolutely unrecognisable.”

“Believe me, angel,” Crowley smirks, confident as anything, “that won’t be an issue.”

🎄 🎄 🎄

Aziraphale stands awkwardly in the middle of his unenthusiastically adorned bookshop. He put up a small, cute Christmas tree, hung some garlands, and decided he was done. He put the most effort into making sure his books are out of the way, and miracled all the glasses and plates to stay upright – even upon being let go by the hand of their holder.

Then he had to go and cast a general miracle so that none of the humans involved would question floating tableware.

Gabriel is _beaming_. He easily moves through the crowd to get to Aziraphale, squeezing the angel’s shoulder just a little too tight. He is, of course, wearing an obnoxious Christmas sweater, with a reindeer’s face in the centre and little lights around it in all the colours of the rainbow. Much to Aziraphale’s chagrin, the lights do actually work, and the reindeer has a Santa hat on its head. Even more annoyingly, Gabriel looks pretty good in it, as per usual.

“Aziraphale!” He shouts over the noise, and if Aziraphale didn’t know Gabriel doesn’t ‘sully the temple of his celestial body with gross matter’, he would assume the archangel is already a bit drunk on eggnog. “You’ve done a great job!”

“Oh, why thank you, Gabriel, I, I did my best to—”

“Your tree was looking a little sad over there.” Gabriel motions towards a corner. “But it was no trouble for me to fix it. You’re welcome!”

Aziraphale blinks a few times at his Christmas tree. It was a cute little thing, he’d selected a bunch of assorted decorations that made it look quite quaint and lovely. Gabriel has replaced all of that with big, glittery silver balls, as well as shiny lavender ribbons criss-crossing the entire length of the tree. The result is… well, department-store perfect. It’s a few feet taller than Aziraphale remembers and, at the top, sits a shiny red star, which clashes loudly with the rest of the decor – quite weird coming from Gabriel, who has an impeccable, if obnoxious, sense of style.

The angel is staring hard at that odd red star – _it looks so out of place, why does it look so out of place?_ – when a small but very heavy box is pushed into his hands.

He looks down. Oh dear. Oh no. The archangel Gabriel got him a _present_. Oh, fuck.

“You have my permission to open it!” Orders Gabriel with a thousand-watt smile.

“B-but Gabriel, you didn’t have to…” Aziraphale stutters, realising with a surge of panic that he’s going to have to come up with a gift for the archangel very, very quickly.

Gabriel claps his hands together and stares Aziraphale down, waiting for him to open the present. Aziraphale swallows and pulls on the white ribbon. Inside the (obviously) lavender box, he finds a small set of blue vinyl weights. Gabriel reaches inside and pulls one out with ridiculous ease. Aziraphale is so taken aback by the sudden absence of weight in his hands that he almost drops the box on his feet.

“These are starter’s weights, of course, but…” Gabriel eyes him up and down with an eyebrow raise that makes Aziraphale squirm, “I figured, at your level… well, I really think you’ll enjoy these!”

The archangel isn’t really looking for confirmation, but Aziraphale’s mouth automatically babbles something along the lines of ‘ _yes’_ and ‘ _thank you’_ and ‘ _how thoughtful’_ anyway.

Gabriel puts the weight back into the box and gives him an insufferable thumbs up/wide smirk combo.

“Right. I’m going to go fix the music now. Don’t thank me.”

Aziraphale starts to say something about how it took him three whole days to put together a suitable Christmas playlist, but Gabriel has already turned his back to him and is walking away.

The angel gives a deep, weary sigh.

“Tonight is off to a great start.” Says Crowley’s voice, to Aziraphale’s right.

The angel turns to him with a smile, sees him, and barely stops himself from erupting in laughter. “M-my dear! What have you done to yourself?”

Crowley glares at him behind dark aviator sunglasses. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you want me to leave?”

Aziraphale coughs, trying to get a hold of himself, tiny tears prickling behind his eyes from the effort of not laughing in his friend’s face. “No! Sorry, I’ll…” he takes a deep breath, “I’m… oh, good Lord!” The angel’s face contorts into a strained grimace as a giggle or two bubbles out of him.

The demon stares at him, arms crossed over his chest, completely unimpressed.

Aziraphale collects himself as he stashes Gabriel’s awful gift in the closest corner, then looks back at Crowley. Now that the surprise is wearing off, he has to admit the demon doesn’t look _bad_. He’s just… so very different from the usual.

He’s wearing dark grey jeans that are a bit looser than his standard fare – which is to say, not breathtakingly skin-tight – and a white shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest. On top of it, he’s donned dark red suspenders and a long necklace ending in a round black pendant. He looks a bit like a modern hippie.

What threw Aziraphale off the most, though, is the perfectly trimmed beard Crowley is sporting. The demon has had quite a few unfortunate encounters with facial hair in the past, but Aziraphale has to admit – this beard does look quite nice on him. Crowley has even gone as far as making his hair and beard (and chest hair, but Aziraphale is most definitely _not_ looking down there) a more common dark brown, rather than his usual flame red. When he looks at Aziraphale over his dark glasses, the angel realises his friend is wearing contacts as well, his eyes shining meadow green.

Well. Crowley has kept his word and made himself completely unrecognisable, as asked. And still unfortunately attractive, but that’s a thought for another day, when Aziraphale doesn’t have a bookshop full of tipsy humans and murderously bored angels.

“Quick drink upstairs?” Crowley proposes, as he watches Gabriel give Michael’s shoulder an energetic pat and Michael doing their best not to cut off their boss’s hand.

Aziraphale winces at the sight. “Please. I cannot get through this completely sober.”

🎄 🎄 🎄

As he paces around Aziraphale’s small living room above the bookshop, Crowley scratches at his new beard. He’s not yet used to it, and he’ll get rid of it as soon as they’re done with this stupid party.

“If there is one good thing to be said about Hell, let it be this: nobody has ever, _ever_ tried to organise a Christmas party. _Yuck_.” He opens a mahogany cabinet to look for the good stuff – this is not a day for cheap alcohol that goes down easy as anything. This is a day for some liquid fire, harsh on the throat and harsher on the brain.

Aziraphale has sunk into an old armchair, possibly hoping it’ll swallow him alive. It doesn’t seem to be working yet. Crowley hands him a generous glass of bourbon. “How long do you reckon this is going to last?”

The angel gives a long sigh. “Until Gabriel’s annoyance with drunken humans outdoes his festive spirit, I’m afraid.”

“Bummer.” Crowley leans against the big window, looking down at the crowd filling the busy Soho street. People in a rush, people strolling leisurely, people in a rush almost shoving the people strolling leisurely under a bus… your usual days-before-Christmas scenario.

That’s when he spots something completely out of the ordinary, and his stomach drops.

“Aziraphale…” He says weakly, gesturing towards the window. “Come here. Quick.”

When the angel comes to stand by his side, Crowley points to a man that sticks out like a sore thumb. Or, well, what _appears_ to be a man. Rather short, he has straight pitch-black hair tied behind his head in a low, scruffy little ponytail. He’s sporting the most confident goatee Crowley has ever seen on a person in six thousand years. He’s wearing a rather expensive-looking black suit and seems to have forgotten to wear a shirt underneath, flashing the upper curve of his small breasts to any casual onlooker, barely covered by some garment that vaguely resembles a dark fishnet.

Aziraphale grips Crowley’s arm. “Is that… goodness, is that Lord Beelzebub?”

Crowley swallows, his mouth as dry as the desert. “I think it is.”

Aziraphale turns his wide, pleading blue eyes to him. “What are they doing here?!”

“How would I know?!” Crowley shoots back, wiggling himself out of Aziraphale’s grasp. His arm feels a bit too warm where the angel touched. “You organised this party, did you or Gabriel invite them?”

“What? No, of course not! Why would I ever invite them? And Gabriel wouldn’t possibly— _ohLordthey’relookingupgetdown_.” Aziraphale grabs Crowley again and roughly pulls him onto the floor. They tumble down together, Crowley ending on his arse and Aziraphale right on top of him, his face turned to the window to check whether they’re low enough to avoid being seen – altogether missing the violent blush on the demon’s cheeks.

Crowley regrets it the moment he does it, but his hand moves on its own, reaching out to flatten the white curls on top of Aziraphale’s head, which he estimates to still be perfectly visible from the street, especially with the way they shine bright in the cloudy December light.

Aziraphale turns to him with that deer-in-the-headlights look he’s mastered through the ages. Upon realising what’s happening, he rolls off of him as fast as he can.

“Right.” He clears his throat. “We… clearly, we need to go back downstairs and check what’s happening. If Lord Beelzebub is here to sabotage the party, Gabriel will be heartbroken.”

“Would that be a problem?”

“And I would never hear the end of it.”

“Right.” Crowley agrees, smoothing down his shirt. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s go.”

🎄 🎄 🎄

Much to Aziraphale’s astonishment, what he finds downstairs is not, in fact, a Lord of Hell setting fire to Gabriel’s new-and-improved version of a Christmas tree, but rather an archangel and an archdemon chatting amicably near a speaker that is currently blasting some awful, awful music. Crowley informs him that the song is called _Merry Christmas (I Don't Want to Fight Tonight)_ by Ramones. Aziraphale mutters something about how this Ramones person absolutely did want to fight, otherwise he wouldn’t have made such harsh, loud, tasteless music. Crowley sighs.

Maybe because he’s too stunned to realise what he’s doing, Aziraphale lets his feet drag him right up to the archangel, who tenses up as soon as he sees him – becoming, if possible, even taller than he already is. He stares down at his subordinate with a deep frown, and Aziraphale reflexively slumps his shoulders and clasps his hands in front of him, making himself as small as possible.

He starts to stutter an excuse but Gabriel cuts him off immediately. “I supposed you’re here to be introduced to the human I invited?” He asks, his piercing violet eyes narrowing a fraction, making a show of gesturing towards Beelzebub. Aziraphale finds himself pinned to the spot even as his instincts are screaming at him to flee. He nods.

His manners override his panic and, ridiculously, he extends a hand towards Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies. “Aziraphale. Nice to meet you.” His lips twitch into a small, forced smile.

Beelzebub stares down at the hand as if they’re not quite sure what to make of it. They look up at Gabriel. Gabriel raises his eyebrows and tilts his head towards the angel’s hand, wordlessly encouraging Beelzebub to take it. All of this is done without a single trace of subtlety, and yet Aziraphale has to pretend not to notice.

The Lord of Hell grips the angel’s hand so hard it hurts, squeezing once before letting it go. Aziraphale stares at them, waiting for a name that is not forthcoming.

Gabriel seems to realise this and steps in. “This is, uh… _Beatrice_. Yes. This is Beatrice, an old acquaintance of mine.”

Lord Beelzebub shoots Gabriel a glare. Aziraphale is willing to bet they would have chosen a much less graceful, much more awe-inspiring name for themselves. Something like Nero, or Attila. If he wasn’t so busy trying to get out of this alive, Aziraphale would wonder why Gabriel has made such a cute choice of name for someone as powerful and fearsome as Lord Beelzebub.

“Well, very pleased to meet you, B-Beatrice,” he stutters, “I do hope you enjoy the party.”

He’s expecting a smile, a nod, or any sign of acknowledgement, but instead Beelzebub turns right back to Gabriel and ignores Aziraphale as hard as a wildly powerful occult being can ignore an inconsequential angel way below their pay grade.

Someone grabs him by the elbow and pulls him away, and Aziraphale is ever so grateful to let the small crowd swallow him again. Crowley drags him to a more secluded corner, grips his shoulders and pins him roughly against a bookshelf. “Have you lost your bloody mind?!”

“I-I panicked!” Aziraphale whisper-shouts, scrunching his face into a frown. “I thought something terrible was about to happen and I had to stop it!”

“By throwing yourself in the crossfire?!” Crowley growls in his face. “You wouldn’t have been able to stop a fight between an archangel and a Lord of Hell!”

“I know!” Aziraphale shoots back, and the demon lets go of him with an exasperated sigh, pacing around the small space as the angel pulls down his waistcoat.

“Okay, alright, new plan,” Crowley says. “If Lord Beelzebub sees me here, I’m a goner. So I will go to Gabriel instead, find out if he knows who his new friend is. And you’ll do the same, and if we’re lucky enough, we’ll keep them distracted until—”

“They know.” Aziraphale says quietly.

Crowley stops in his tracks. “What?”

“They know.” The angel repeats, a little louder. “It was very obvious… Gabriel knew it was Lord Beelzebub. He had quite some trouble making up a human name for them on the spot.”

“Bu- _wh_ -are you sure?” Crowley’s mouth hangs open for a few seconds. “Are they up to something?”

“T-they can’t be. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.” Aziraphale says, staring down at his shoes.

“‘Course.” Crowley replies, unconvincingly.

“I think… I think we should keep an eye on them. Trying not to draw too much attention on ourselves.”

“You don’t have to tell me, I’m not the one introducing myself to a Lord of Hell.” The angel gives Crowley a piqued look, and the demon raises both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Let’s go find them again, then.”

🎄 🎄 🎄

They stop for a moment by the food to get Aziraphale a fortifying piece of chocolate cake, then do a lap around the room. Gabriel and Beelzebub, weirdly, are nowhere to be found.

Crowley hears a strange thumping noise right above their heads. Both he and the angel look up. Is somebody upstairs?

“Uh.”

“Perfectly. Reasonable. Explanation.” Aziraphale grits out, his eyebrow twitching.

“Sure, sure. I’ll… go check, all right? Wait here. Won’t be a moment.” Some elements are starting to align in Crowley’s brain.

Gabriel insisting on Christmas parties when he doesn’t, otherwise, give two shits about anything human except for his clothes.

Gabriel demanding that everyone brings a human friend along.

Beelzebub showing up looking – well, _fly_ , without a single pustulant wart in sight.

Gabriel and Beelzebub chatting near the speaker, where they’d be less likely to be overheard.

Gabriel and Beelzebub chatting like old friends.

It doesn’t happen often, but right now Crowley feels like the smart one between him and Aziraphale.

As he climbs up to the angel’s flat, he has a pretty good idea of what he’ll find. At the top of the stairs, he opens the door just the tiniest crack. He can’t see them from here, but the noises speak for themselves – someone is panting _hard_ , someone else is groaning. Something is banging against the floor in a frantic rhythm. Someone yelps and—oh, that’s definitely Lord Beelzebub’s sneer. A shoe flies through Crowley’s field of vision, followed by a sudden, loud crush – like an armchair giving out and crashing down into the floor.

Scratch this ‘being the smart one’ bullshit, he would have rather not known. Ignorance really is bliss sometimes.

He’s so focused on the obscene sounds coming from Aziraphale’s flat that he doesn’t notice the angel has followed him and is currently standing right behind him, a horrified expression on his face. Crowley is not sure by what miracle he manages not to scream when Aziraphale puts a quiet hand on his shoulder.

His heart beating like a hammer in his chest, Crowley signals to his friend to go back down, and carefully closes the door of the flat behind him.

Back in the bookshop, Crowley spots Tommy, the rude guy from the bakery down the streets, doing shots with another guy around his age. He’d wonder who even procured the alcohol for that, since Aziraphale surely hasn’t, but they have bigger fish to fry at the moment. Great big buggers to fry indeed.

Aziraphale seems to be in a vague state of shock.

“Alright, angel?” Crowley asks him, not even caring about the concern clearly audible in his voice.

“That… they… Crowley, forgive me for asking so crassly, but… were the archangel Gabriel and Lord Beelzebub… _f-fornicating_ in my flat?”

“Uh,” the demon is quite sure he has never, ever blushed so fast or so hard in his entire existence. It feels so… weird, talking about _sex_ with Aziraphale of all people. “Ngh—yeah? I’m rather sure. Uh. Sorry about your flat.”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale says faintly, a hand against the nearest wall to hold himself up. He sounds a little choked up when he speaks next. “I… I would have never imagined… of all the things happening…”

Crowley snorts. “Yeah, I know. I’m surprised too. I wouldn’t have pegged Gabriel as the type who’d enjoy a good romp.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolds him, “they are _in love_!”

“Wh—”

“They must be! Otherwise, why would they risk it all? Good Lord. If anyone found out!”

“I don’t th—”

“He would lose everything! His rank, his power… his place in Heaven!”

“Serves him right for being a—”

“I have to talk to him.”

“What?” Crowley blinks twice behind his dark glasses.

“I have to talk to him. I have to tell him… this is madness. This is too dangerous. There has to be something I can do.”

“What do you mean?” Crowley asks, confused. “What would you even tell him?”

“Well…” Aziraphale wrings his hands. “T-that it’s wrong, and they’re on opposites sides, they’re hereditary enemies… for goodness’ sake, this just can’t be happening at all.”

Now – Crowley doesn’t give a fuck about Gabriel. The archangel has been tormenting his dearest friend for literal ages. He’s nothing but a well-dressed, self-important prick, and it would be Crowley’s pleasure to kick him into the darkest pit Hell has to offer.

However – suddenly, he finds himself getting angry on Gabriel’s behalf. More than angry, in fact – downright _furious_.

“Oh, sure, by all means, you go tell the archangel fucking Gabriel that bonking a bad, dirty demon is disgusting and wrong and he should stop. Bloody stellar idea, Aziraphale. Let me know how that goes, alright?”

Crowley waves to the angel over his shoulder as he stomps away. He’s not even sure what set him off like that, but he’s so mad he can hear the blood rushing in ears. Maybe he can ask Tommy to be his best friend for a while. At least he’ll get free shots out of it.

🎄 🎄 🎄

Aziraphale paces the length of the backroom for a good twenty minutes before having the guts to come out and look for Gabriel. This will be difficult. This will be so very, very difficult. But he has to do it. Gabriel… well, he might be insufferable at times, and not the most considerate angel out there, sure. But they’re still on the same side. Aziraphale’s duty is to try and protect him… even from himself if need be.

Aziraphale understands – oh, understands _so well_. The pull of attraction, the temptation dangling before your eyes for thousands of years… but one mustn’t give in. It isn’t safe. Not for Gabriel, not for his demon lover. Aziraphale can’t imagine Lord Beelzebub would get off easy if they were found out.

Oh, but the two of them must love each other so terribly, to be willing to risk it all. Who knows? Maybe they met forever ago, when the Earth was first created… maybe they slowly found out they had much more in common than they thought. An unexpected act of kindness, the right word at the right moment…

Either way. No use wondering, this needs to stop right now.

He finds Gabriel alone by the tree. “Aziraphale!” Weirdly enough, the archangel beams at him. His hair is a little messy, and he has a big purple bruise poking out the collar of his sweater, which Aziraphale pointedly chooses to ignore. Then, with dawning horror, the angel starts to realise the reason why Gabriel is smiling to him. “So, no need to be shy, just tell me which one is mine.” His superior says, gesturing towards the presents under the tree.

“Well…” Aziraphale does not have the heart or the courage to tell him it’s just empty boxes with pretty ribbons on them. They’re there for decoration purposes only, because it seemed like the human thing to do. In truth, there’s only one person Aziraphale would have enjoyed going gift shopping for, but… well. He clears his throat. “Gabriel. I meant to talk to you about something very important. Could I have your undivided attention?”

The archangel fingerguns in the vague direction of someone behind Aziraphale back. “Sure. What’s up? Don’t tell me it’s about work, this is supposed a fun party.” He pats his subordinate on the shoulder, hard enough to make him wince. “You have to learn to enjoy life every so often, Aziraphale! It is truly heroic of you to spend so much time on Earth, you deserve to let loose every so often, don’t you?”

“I suppose, yes. So, uhm, what I meant to talk to you about… well, it’s a delicate subject really. It’s very… personal, that is.” Gabriel nods distractedly, so Aziraphale decides to cut to the chase before losing the archangel’s attention completely. “I’m fairly sure you were just upstairs, Gabriel. In my flat.”

The archangel’s eyes snap back to Aziraphale immediately. He clenches his jaw. “Yes, I needed a moment of quiet. So?”

“With a friend, if I’m not mistaken.” Aziraphale adds cautiously. He feels heat rushing to his cheeks. “Getting rather… affectionate, I’d say.”

Much to his surprise, Gabriel erupts into uncontrollable peals of laughter. “Oh, Aziraphale,” he says, when he’s done cackling, “how is it that you’ve been here for such a long time and I know much more than you do about human traditions, hmm?”

Aziraphale opens his mouth to speak, completely taken aback, but Gabriel is already pulling something out of his pocket.

“Oh, well,” the archangel says, “I suppose I always had an affinity for Christmas, what with being the archangel tasked with delivering the good news to Mary and all.”

Aziraphale tries very hard not to roll his eyes. Gabriel raises his arm up in the air, holding between thumb and forefinger a bunch of sprigs tied together with a red ribbon.

“This, Aziraphale, is what the humans call _mistletoe._ As tradition would have it, you are supposed to share a kiss with someone right under it. For good luck. That’s what I was doing.” Gabriel starts looking around – and Aziraphale’s blood turns to ice. “So. Where’s that young man you invited?”

“Oh, no, really, I can’t—” he tries to say, horrified at the thought of kissing Tommy of all people. He’s too—too young, too human.

“It’s a _tradition_ , Aziraphale. By definition, you have to participate in it.” Gabriel says with a cutting a smile. “Don’t worry, I will personally make sure your friend doesn’t reject you.”

Aziraphale’s skin crawls and he feels vaguely nauseous. He doesn’t even want to think about what Gabriel is hinting at. “Gabriel, I don’t—”

“Go on,” Gabriel gestures towards the crowd, “call him here, we don’t have all night.”

Aziraphale panics. He starts to babble an excuse, when—

“I’ll do it.” A voice behind Aziraphale says. Crowley’s voice, even though he’s obviously trying really hard to sound nothing like himself by raising it a full octave. But the angel would know that voice anywhere. “A kiss is a kiss, right? I don’t mind.”

Gabriel shrugs. “Yeah, sure. You’re all the same to me.”

Crowley does his best imitation of a human being slightly confused by that comment but not wanting to ask, and positions himself in front of Aziraphale. He raises an eyebrow, a question the angel understands without needing it to be spoken aloud: _is this okay, angel?_

Aziraphale smiles, his heart full. “Thank you,” he says, relieved beyond reason. He doesn’t even care that Gabriel is rolling his eyes at these pleasantries.

“Okay.” Crowley says, a little shakily, taking a deep breath. He puts an unexpectedly gentle hand on Aziraphale’s face, lightly holding his chin between thumb and forefinger. He leans close, brushing his nose against the angel’s for a moment. Then, he presses their lips together, softly, and Aziraphale feels the warmth spreading from his mouth to his neck to the tips of his fingers and toes.

 _Oh_.

_Oh, this is nice._

_This is…_

“See, Aziraphale?” Gabriel’s harsh tone abruptly snaps him back to reality. “Not a big deal.”

The angel would beg to differ, but suddenly feels slightly drunk and unsteady on his feet, so all he does is nod, a wobbly smile on his face. He stares right into Crowley’s eyes, which aren’t completely hidden by the sunglasses – not for someone who’s known him for six thousand years. He’s feeling… Lord knows _what_ he’s feeling. He’s feeling too much, he’s feeling too many things at once to be able to name them.

Crowley spots something behind Aziraphale, ducks his head quickly to hide his face, and steps backwards, putting a few people between himself and the angels. Aziraphale doesn’t understand the reason for this retreat until he hears a _whimper_ coming from Gabriel, turns around and sees—something he had never expected to see.

He sees that Lord Beelzebub has Gabriel’s scarf wrapped tightly around their hand, using it – well, a bit like a leash, to be honest, dragging the tall archangel down to their height. Aziraphale would have some trouble describing what comes next as a kiss – in stark contrast to the delicate touch of Crowley’s lips on his, Lord Beelzebub has sunk their teeth into Gabriel’s lower lip without a care in the world, and Aziraphale has to look away immediately because the archangel’s eyes are fluttering closed like he’s thoroughly enjoying whatever the hell that is and that sight is a bit _much_ , even for an angel who learned about sex watching Adam and Eve getting it on.

Aziraphale’s gaze finds Crowley in the crowd. The demon has an amused smirk on his face. He shrugs. Aziraphale smiles and shrugs in reply. Oh, well. He tried to warn Gabriel, and the archangel wouldn’t listen. He’s tried to do his duty and was mocked and threatened for his trouble, so his conscience is all right with letting the matter drop for now.

Later on, when almost everyone is gone and Crowley is waiting for his angel at the pub two streets down for a late night drink, Gabriel comes by to give Aziraphale some perfunctory thanks for hosting the event.

This time, it’s Aziraphale who gives him a small fist bump on an overly muscular arm. “No, thank _you_ , Gabriel. I had an exquisite time.”

And he really means it, even if his boss gives him a confused look.

And if, as Aziraphale miracles away empty bottles and dirty dishes, he spots a Lord of Hell smoking a cigarette and waiting for an archangel on the other side of the street, well… he’ll just turn the other way, this time around.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a little too much fun with this one ngl hahahaha SORRY GUYS
> 
> And merry Christmas, V 🖤


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